Little Nicky Nick and The Rocket

I got some serious one-on-one time with a 23 month old recently. 

Let me back up...my latest grandchild, Nichols Andrew Black, II, decided he needed to arrive a little early.  8 weeks early to be exact. 

This all came as a bit of a surprise.   When my wife called me on that Thursday afternoon and asked me where I was and what I was doing, I knew for sure that she wasn't being nosy.   Something was up.

She said "I need you to come to Knoxville as soon as you can...we're having a baby."  Obviously there were some issues.  The decision to take the baby was swift yet calm and calculated. 

A little after 9 that evening, little (and I do mean little--3 pounds, 2.5 ounces) Nicky Nick got here.  My job was to take care of the 23 month old sibling, Mariella.

Lock, stock, and barrel.  Me and her, 24 hours a day until sometime Sunday morning.   Meals, baths, diapers, naps, bedtime stories, cartoons, visits to see Mom and Dad--all that stuff.   I put her to bed at night and was there when she woke up in the morning.

Dad stayed with Mom while my wife stayed with Nicky Nick in the NICU at East Tennessee Children's Hospital.  

And let me pause for a non-paid announcement here:  What a wonderful place!   First class care.  Compassionate and understanding staff.  A facility dedicated to the care of babies delivered prematurely.  In the years to come, we will all be grateful to Children's Hospital for how well they took care of the newest Black child.

Now let me go back even a little further.   The day before the birth, we had buried my good friend Steve Newman.  At 52, Steve had died suddenly and unexpectedly.  An avid biker, I can sum up my insight on him by saying he was a genuinely good guy;  someone that you always looked forward to seeing.

Obviously that week was an emotional roller coaster for me.  Sadness at my friend's passing.   Fear of the unknown problems the new grandson was facing.   Concern for the baby's Mom.

So now it's Friday and it's all about Mariella and Daddy Joe.  She didn't care what I wore, who I was, or how much was in my bank account.  She wanted to feel safe and comfortable in my arms. 

She wanted three books and two songs before climbing in bed.  She wanted milk and Mickey when she woke up.  She ate most of what I cooked and even liked my Benton's bacon (so the girl definitely has taste).

And when help arrived, I moved down the priority list and that was alright.   I had my time and things were likely changed forever between us.

Mom and little Nicky Nick are both doing great.  He'll get to come home in several weeks.   Meanwhile, the NICU is his home.  Despite the anxiety of the first couple of days, it was wonderful to experience this new life.

But at the same time, I'm sure gonna miss my friend.

Preventing ACL Injuries: The Time is NOW!

I've been doing this stuff for over 35 years and it still hurts.  And it wasn't even my team.

Last Saturday night I was covering Alcoa High School's basketball game at Elizabethton for AHS Head Athletic Trainer Peggy Bratt, who was in Indiana for her mother's surgery.

Thirty-eight (38) seconds into the game, Kayla Newman went down with a knee injury that may prove to be a torn Anterior Cruciate Ligament (ACL).  At press time, the family was awaiting the results of diagnostic testing.

I can't tell you how many times I've travelled down this path with a young athlete but it's too many.  There are over 200,000 ACL injuries in this country every year, with over half of those requiring surgery.  Most of those occur while playing agility sports like football, basketball, and soccer.  About 30% of those involve contact while the rest are non-contact injuries.

A female is 8 times more likely to suffer a torn ACL than a male.    Indeed, it appears to be the female athlete injury of greatest consequence. 

Many factors contribute to this and I've addressed those in this space many times over the years.  Wider pelvis.  The increased joint laxity/flexibility found in most females.  Lack of muscular development.   The fact that young boys generally start sports years before young girls.

But I want to make one thing crystal clear today:   There are simple measures that you can take that will help prevent ACL injuries.  

First, look at your foot.  Are you flat footed?   Do you have a "pronated" foot?  (If you don't know the answer to that one, you might ask a physical therapist or podiatrist.)  If so, your risk for ACL injury is increased.   You need arch supports.   Not everyone needs custom orthotics.  Over-the-counter arch supports should do well and will, at least, help in your quest to reduce your risk for an ACL injury. 

How do you land from a jump?   Upon landing, are your knees together?   If so, you are at risk.

Do this:  stand with your feet shoulder width apart.   Your knees should be aligned with your feet and shoulders.  In other words, a line from your shoulder to your foot should go down the middle of your knee.  

Now jump down from a stool.  Upon landing, are your knees in that same position?  If so, you should be OK.  If not, there could be a problem.  It is amazing how many girls fail this simple test.  

You need to learn how to land from a jump.   You have to practice proper jumping technique.  That's where an athletic trainer might help.

Finally, you need to increase the strength of the muscles that externally rotate the hip.   That one's pretty hard to explain but a personal trainer or coach should be able to help you with that.  

That's it.  If we could get every female athlete in every middle school to do those three things, we would see a huge decrease in the incidence of ACL tears.

We will never complete eliminate ACL injuries but if we save one athlete from this devastating injury, the effort will have been worth it.  Especially if that one athlete is you.

 

Losing my Southern Card

I was born in the south, have lived here most of my life (so far), and own a pickup truck, but I may have to turn in my "Southern" card. 

I don't live and die by the SEC, I don't hunt or fish, did not particularly enjoy my one NASCAR experience, and have just never been that comfortable in a baseball cap (although I have been known to wear one from time to time).

I do like sweet tea but I seem to have lost most of my solidly southern accent.   I guess that's because of too many conversations with people that aren't from around here. Yeah, I know...I need to do something about that.

I don't own any camo but I think I can find a duck call somewhere.  I'm pretty sure I can still use it but I haven't tried in a really long time.  I own a canoe but that doesn't really give me many Southern points because it doesn't have a motor.

There isn't much fried food around my house which should definitely cost me Southern points but the health reasons for avoiding anything fried are at the top of my priority list.   Oh, but there is that little catfish place near my house that everyone knows I have a regular hankering for (and they opened Friday, by the way).

So what makes someone Southern?  I think it is less about where you were born but more about where your heart is.   (Although Florida snow-birds are not really southern at all--they just learned how miserable northern winters can be.)

And about that.  I want snow that is more of an occasional nuisance, not a way of life.  My biking buddy T just moved to Massachusetts where the bike season runs roughly from Memorial Day to Labor Day.  For sure not for me.

I do like to travel and do often find myself north of the Mason-Dixon Line.  I can find my way around New York on the subway and can tell you where to find a good restaurant in dozens of cities.   But the emphasis is on "visiting" those places.  I never really wanted to live there.

I did spend a couple of years in West Virginia but I usually refer to that as my sabbatical, if non-ministers can have those sorts of things. 

I don't fly the flag of the Confederacy but that is because it offends some and I was always taught that I don't have the right to be offensive (check with King James on that one).  Besides that, my southern ancestors were the poor folks, not the ones waging war.

I love a slower pace, four seasons, the sound of tree frogs, warm waters, and accents where the vowels are all drawn out and single syllable words can become multiples.

I love good manners and places where it is bad form not to say yes m'am or no sir and where it is totally unacceptable not to respect your elders.

I always want to live in a place where you can find barbed wire and barns, where there's more than one hay season, and where you know from mama's bawl when her calf is being weaned. I do love to listen to the northern loons but I'll be just fine with the call of the quail and the haunting message of the whippoorwill. 

Born here.  Bred here.  Gonna spend the rest of my life living here.   Maybe more cosmopolitan or "metro" than my upbringing might have been expected to produce but my heart is firmly planted in Dixie.

The Assist that counted most

Aaron Eakins was an offensive whiz on the basketball court.  When he graduated from William Blount High School in 2005, he was their all-time leading scorer.  To say he could light it up is pretty accurate.

While at William Blount, he was All-County twice and All-District Tournament 3 times.  He made several other all-tournament teams including being named the tournament MVP his senior year at the Sequoyah Christmas Classic.

Despite that scoring prowess, he was still team player.  I talked last week about a "Basketball Jones." Aaron was definitely that kind of basketball player-a real student of the game. 

Yet, he was never really known for his assists.

Phil Eakins is a 36 year employee of the Blount County Parks & Rec Department. A talented athlete in his own right, Phil was a 3 sports letterman at Townsend High School in the early 70’s.

Phil lost a kidney when he was 19. He's 58 now and really didn't have much problems in the intervening years but had a light heart attack in 2008.  Treatment for that damaged the other kidney but it was still able to function at a 20% capacity.

But by early 2011, his kidney function had dropped to 16% and dialysis was looming. It was time to search for a donor.   As is most often the case, the best chance for a match was from Phil’s immediate family.   Phil’s wife, Dena was tested first, but was not a match. However 3 of his children, Tommie, Melissa, and Aaron were.  The decision was soon made…his son Aaron wanted to be the one to provide the kidney for his dad.

Phil began dialysis on March 20th of 2012 as his kidney function continued to decrease. His stamina suffered but he felt quite good for the most part and continued to work. While in dialysis, Phil really felt out of place.  "These people were sick.  I really wasn't.  I felt like I was taking up resources that could better be used by someone else."

At the time, Phil's son Aaron was working for Ruby Tuesday in St. Augustine.    In June of 2012 he moved home to prep for surgery, which was performed on  October 2nd of 2012. Phil flew thru the post-op.  That's typical for this type of kidney transplant.  However, the process was far more painful for Aaron,  which is very common for the donor.

 
For Phil, life since he got a new kidney has been good.  He has a better quality of life and feels healthier than he was at 40.   He also has a very special place in his heart for people on dialysis and what they go thru daily.

As for Aaron, he’s taken a job with Publix at Turkey Creek and is doing well. He did have to explain the hole in his resume that was created by the transplant.

And he's finally known for his assists.

Basketball Jones!

I can still feel the ball rolling off my fingertips.  My eyes follow the arc of the ball until it swishes cleanly through the net.

It's been several months since my final basketball game and I still miss it dearly.  For most of my life, I've been a "Basketball Jones."  If Cheech and Chong mean nothing to you, that might not mean anything to you either.

But to me it means that I love to play basketball.  That I go to sleep at night thinking of a basketball game in which every shot goes in and maybe, oh maybe, I can dunk. 

I used to play all of the time.  Go back a little bit and you find me as part of lunch-time games every Tuesday and Thursday that my Mom swore would dictate when we held her funeral.  A standing game on Sunday evening started with Dr. Ken Bell and I in probably 1982 and lasted until the current millenium.

Go back even further and you would find me traveling all over town, looking for the best game.  Sandy Springs Park was the main place but games were to be found at Everett Park and at old school gyms all across the county.  Mentor, Alynwick, Walland...I knew 'em all.

I even used to head over to the Alcoa courts that used to be next to the Candy Store.  I didn't really fit in there but kids like Lester Whitted (maybe still the greatest all-around athlete I ever knew) and Dino Allen made sure I was welcome.  It helped that I could hit the 3 and was well aware of how valuable an assist was in that setting.

I used to go by and pick up Dawn Marsh and take her around with me sometimes.  Lots of games wouldn't let a girl in the game but I made sure that she got in.  And then she embarrassed them.  Every time.

Current colleague Rebecca Myers Morris and I share some memories of similar circumstances.  She and I picked up a friend of hers and a local high male player and sent a bunch of college guys here for the summer home in a huff (and with a loss).  An old guy, two girls, and a couple of high school kids thumped 'em.

While at UT-Memphis, I worked in the gym at the Student Center which means I could jump into a game pretty much anytime I wanted to.  I've known days when I would play until the tips of my fingers would blister.

You might ask yourself what sane 59 year old man loves basketball that much.  Let me be the first to tell you--this one.

Let me back up a bit.  I've told parts of this story before.

Back in the fall, I had some stomach problems that meant that I had to quit taking ibuprofen for several months.  What I found was that without the ibuprofen, basketball was really brutal on my knees. 

I can bike all day long without medical help but basketball is a different story.  I think I've got a lot of years left on the bicycle but every year on the basketball court was borrowed.

So I hung up my basketball shoes.  For good.  

But every once in a while, I'd just like to get out there one more time.  Hit the 3.  Shoot the reverse layup from the back side.  Experiences to build a dream on.

Guilty!

I suppose now that my mom knows the ugly truth and the statute of limitations is long since passed, I can share a story with you.   Mom is 93 and I'm almost 60 but it was only about a month ago that I finally told her the whole story

The year was 1970. I was a 17 year old high school junior and a really decent kid, if I do say so myself.  I remember it like it was yesterday.

This particular day was a Sunday morning.  My mom and I arrived for Sunday School at First Baptist Church of Loudon.  The first person we saw was Ernie Black (no relation) who scolded me:  "I can't believe you 'egged' Mrs. (name withheld because...well...I don't have a good reason...maybe I'm afraid some relative is still alive that might yet retaliate)'s house."  This person was an English teacher  at Loudon High School.

The next person I ran into said pretty much  the same thing and added that he was really disappointed in me, that he thought I was a much better person than that.  The problem was that I didn't do it.

So on my way home, with my mother in the car, I stopped by this teacher's house.  When I knocked on the door, she opened it without taking off the chain thingie, just like what you find on hotel doors.  I'm pretty sure that she owned the only hotel-type chain security device in all of Loudon County. 

"What do YOU want?"

"Yes mam, I would really like to know why you're telling everyone that I egged your house."

"Because you did.  I saw you.  You were hanging out of that Ronnie McNabb's car and throwing eggs at my house."

"No, mam, I didn't do that." 

"Yes you did!"   SLAM.

OK.  My mom knew that much of the story.   She believed me when I told her that I didn't do it.   What she didn't know until almost 43 years later was that the next weekend three friends and I dropped four dozen eggs on this teacher's house, commando-style, in the middle of the night. 

I figured that if I'm gonna do the time, I might as well do the crime (or something like that).  And I still don't feel bad about that little bit of revenge.  So what's the message (and what the heck is this doing in the sports page)?

I don't know.   Maybe it has to do with the importance of maintaining your reputation.  Even at that young age, it was important to me.   I saw myself as one of the good guys.  Football player, good student, Eagle Scout, in church pretty much every time the doors were open, and already a community activist.

I have always cared about what people thought about me.  I remember another incident years earlier in which I did do something that I shouldn't have and the mother of a young child said to her son "please don't turn out like them."  That one hurts to this day.

The bottom line is that if you don't have a good reputation, you can't be trusted which means that you won't be given any real responsibilities which means that you won't get the opportunities that you might deserve.  That works on the playing field and in the board room.

So protect your reputation but first make sure that you deserve it.  Be the person that others can trust--the person that they know they can count on.  It makes you the best possible teammate or co-worker.

Build on those memories

There are a whole lot of high school football players around here that played football for the last time in their lives within the last couple of months.  

There are a few of those seniors that might have the opportunity to play in college but the vast majority have played their last games.  Ever.  And that's OK.

For some, their season was cut short by an injury.   We seemed to have several of those this year.  It seems particularly  tragic when it is the senior year.

Everybody dreams of going out with a stellar senior year.   For most little boys that want to play football, a great senior year is the crowning glory to a career that they literally dream about.

I can remember mine.  For most of the 40 years since, I could tell you scores and plays and details at a level that was nothing short of amazing, if I do say so myself.  Can't do that so much anymore but I can tell you who won each and every game. 

We lost three times that year after going undefeated and winning the state championship the year before.  Those losses were an upset win to Dayton (which later became Rhea County), Cleveland, and eventual state champion Maryville.  

Yeah, Maryville.  It seems somehow ironic or maybe even fitting that I've spent almost my entire adult life living in Maryville, considering that Loudon-Maryville was this huge football rivalry that I got to be a part of.

I knew all the players on that Maryville team because coaching at Loudon was Coach Gary Dutton, who had coached that bunch seniors when they were at Maryville Junior High.  I could go to the line of scrimmage and call them out by name.  Jim Allison, Johnny and Joe Emert, Tommy Beaver.  I'd like to think it was a little disconcerting when I called them by name.

I can tell you that we were leading 28-21 late in the game until a punt return by MHS for a touchdown to tie it and then a score with less than a minute won it for Maryville, 35-28. 

In my many years in Maryville since, I have met many of those players and count a goodly number as friends.  It's probably helped that MHS won the game. 

Memories are the fabric that helps us understand who we are, not just where we've been.  I don't believe in living in the past but the past is still the foundation on which we build our lives.

For underclassmen, the next season has already started.   Workouts have already started.  Bigger.  Stronger.  Faster.  New dreams for next year's seniors

For those whose season ended early due to injuries, they are hard at work in rehab and it is one of the great pleasures of my professions that I get to follow them all the way back to the playing field. 

Enjoy it all.  You are building memories every day.  When I see J.L. Millsaps or Lonnie Hawkins, we can see and feel those times--practices, workouts, and games--like they were yesterday.